


Cup of cheer

by Builder



Series: Powers/No Powers Choose-Your-Own-Adventure [38]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Depression, Fever, M/M, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28201299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: The worst is confirmed when she hears the bathroom door close, followed by what seems to be a retch and a splash.“Dammit,” Laura mutters.Clint’s making a face that makes her sure he’s heard it too.  “Ugh,” he groans, then pinches two fingers and removes a strand of tinsel from his tongue.  “And I don’t think it’s eating the decor that’s making him wanna puke.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Powers/No Powers Choose-Your-Own-Adventure [38]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/760377
Comments: 20
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @Builder051

“Hey, come in, come in,” Laura says, ushering Bucky inside. “Clint’s been excited all morning about having help up on the roof.”

Bucky looks at her blankly. “I don’t... The roof?”

Steve laughs. “I, uh, maybe didn’t tell you about that part.”

Laura gives him a sharp look, but can’t seem to hold it long. “Want to just drive around town? Give him a couple hours of fun; give yourself a couple hours to decompress?”

Steve sighs. “He’s just so... sad. It’s the holidays. I mean...” He gestures with his empty travel mug. “I couldn’t even tell him Clint wanted to put lights on the roof.”

“Now that’s different from ‘didnt.’” Laura bites her lip. “How about you go into town. Go buy him something last-minute. There’s a Target.”

“You just don’t want me leaving him here with you while I run away home,” Steve mutters.

“Now that’s not what I said.”

But Steve’s already halfway back to the car. And Bucky’s not quite all the way into the house.

Laura sighs and curses under her breath.

Once cocoa’s bubbling on the stove and a ladder’s placed firmly in front of the bare tree in the living room, everything seems better under control.

“Don’t know why we left everything so late this year,” Laura laughs, pulling marshmallows out of the top of the pantry. The answer is obvious, though. She couldn’t get Bucky over quickly enough. She can’t seem to talk to Steve anymore. And it always feels like her fault.

“Now, how many?” She asks, holding out the bag of marshmallows. Cooper takes 10, which Laura doesn’t bother to cut down even though they’re big ones, Lila settles for 5, and Bucky answers, “None?” The look on the poor man’s face makes it seem he expects to be slapped.

“James, it’s fine,”Laura says, swallowing one of the sweets herself before putting the bag away. “You don’t have to make yourself sick.”

Bucky nods and accepts the warm mug of cocoa, but doesn’t drink. Laura wants to sigh, but decides to accept progress as progress instead.

“Can we do ornaments?” Cooper complains, wiping a chocolate moustache with the back of his hand.

Laura offers a napkin. “As soon as Dad finishes getting the tinsel out of the garage.” She turns to Bucky. “Do you think you can spot the ladder? The kids like to climb, but...” she gives a shudder. “I won’t make you go on the roof if you take that job instead.”

Bucky blinks at her, then slowly nods.

“That’s perfect, then.” Laura smiles. “I’ll break the news to Clint.”

At that moment, the door to the garage bangs open, and a second later, her husband enters the room, a string of glittering red tinsel strung under his nose, behind his ears, and tied beneath his chin. “Ho, ho, ho,” he offers, holding his lack of belly with an impression of jollity. “What’s up?”

“Uncle Bucky doesn’t want to get on the roof,” Lila tattles quickly, her mouth sticky with marshmallow. 

“Lila, sweetheart--” Laura starts, giving her daughter the stern look she wishes she could’ve used on Steve earlier.

“Whadaya mean?” Clint’s arms fall to his sides. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“I just think it’d be better to spot the kids on the ladder inside,” Laura says quickly. “You know how I feel about that thing.”

“And leave me outside all on my lonesome?”

“But you love heights, Dad,” Cooper points out. “Can I help you?”

Laura’s about to give that a hard ‘No’ when she notices Bucky slinking out of the kitchen and down the hall.

“Now there’s an idea,” Clint looks up to catch Laura’s eye. “Babe?”

“Hold on.” The worst is confirmed when she hears the bathroom door close, followed by what seems to be a retch and a splash.

“Dammit,” Laura mutters. 

Clint’s making a face that makes her sure he’s heard it too. “Ugh,” he groans, then pinches two fingers and removes a strand of tinsel from his tongue. “And I don’t think it’s eating the decor that’s making him wanna puke.”

“Yeah.” Laura’s already halfway down the hall. “James?” She taps gently on the bathroom door. “Can I come in?”

Bucky makes a guttural spitting sound, then, “Um. Yeah.”

Laura turns the knob and eases the door open. Bucky’s in the most uncomfortable of positions, braced with his knees on either side of the toilet bowl and his hand on the seat, his back arched up like a cat’s as he gags. Nothing much comes up, his stomach either already emptied or never filled to begin with.

“Ok,” she soothes, pressing her fingers to the back of Bucky’s neck with one hand and sweeping his hair out of his face with the other. “Sit down, ok?” She isn’t worried if he misses the toilet. Messes are nothing, not that he’s likely to make one.

Once they maneuver to the floor, Laura moves her hand to Bucky’s forehead. “You’re burning up,” she whispers. “Probably felt bad all day, huh?”

Bucky sighs. Swallows. Then barely nods. 

“Did you tell Steve?”

Predictably, he shakes his head.

“Did you think he wouldn’t believe you?” Laura looks at him, confused. 

Bucky bows his head, and she guides it to her shoulder. “Probably wouldn’t do anything...” The man hiccups, and a tear runs into the collar of Laura’s shirt.

“Aw, James.” She isn’t sure if it’s a true showing of Steve’s behavior lately, or just Bucky’s perception of it. She pulls her phone from her pocket and scrolls through her contacts with her free hand. _He’s sick_ , she types once she’s pulled up Steve’s stream of messages.

_Want me to come back? Pick him up?_

_I’ll put him to bed_ , she taps out, then pauses. _Come over and talk?_

Steve doesn’t reply. Even the bouncing three dots of thought in reply vanish. Laura sighs, then leaves the device face-down on the floor. 

“Rinse out your mouth?” she offers.

Bucky nods and begins to use the wall to negotiate himself to his feet. Laura offers her arm, and he takes it instead. 

“Here,” she says after he’s swished with a dixie cup of water. “Guest room, ok? You can lie down for a while.”

Bucky nods. He lets her lead him one door over, then curls on the bed facing away from her. Sadness rolls off him in feverish waves, and each one fills Laura’s heart with a little more despair.

“Thanks,” he finally whispers, and Laura knows she’s due to leave.

She makes it out into the hallway, her thoughts drifting back to her children and the ladder, but the sound of infernal electronic vibration breaks her concentration. Laura follows the noise back to the bathroom mat, where a single-word text has landed. It’s from Steve, and it reads, _Ok._


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Steve arrives, Laura’s in the bathroom with Bucky again. Clint comes and gently taps on the door, offering to switch places. Laura’s glad that he’s ditched his tinsel beard and seems to have slid back into a parenting mood.

After checking that the kids are occupied unboxing the ornaments and safely away from the ladder that’s folded and stowed between the end table and the wall, Laura makes her way into the kitchen where Steve sits at the counter, swirling a spoon in Bucky’s abandoned mug of cocoa. 

“That’s got to be cold,” Laura says, trying not to begin with an apology. “I can get you your own.” She gestures to the pot on the stove, which, though off, is still warm.

“Nah,” Steve says, lifting the cup to his lips. “I’m used to Buck’s leftovers. Besides, it’s too good to waste. And I like chocolate milk.”

“Hm.” Laura tries to smile, but finds she can’t. “He’s running a hundred and two degree fever, Steve. I can see why he didn’t want any. He’s been up vomiting twice. Dry heaving, really. I mean...” She pauses and shakes her head. “Did you even look at him this morning?”

“Sure I did,” Steve says, understandably defensive. “Couldn’t put clothes on him and drive him all the way out here without...” He takes another sip of the cold cocoa, then resurfaces and says, “What are you getting at, Laura?”

“Did you not touch him, then?” Laura tries not to let her voice rise.

Steve shakes his head. “He won’t let me. He’s gotten so... sad. Scared. I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you talk about it?” Laura tries throwing him a bone. “I’m always here to listen.”

Steve wraps his hands around the mug as if trying to leach out any residual warmth. Laura doubts any is present.

“I just...” Steve starts. “He’s... hit a hard spot. He won’t talk to me anymore. We don’t sit together. We haven’t slept together in... I don’t know how long.”

“You haven’t?”

“You know what I mean,” Steve quickly clarifies.

“Of course.” Laura nods. “It’s just that, well, he’s been tossing up stomach acid, and the way he tells it, you haven’t noticed and haven’t helped.”

Steve sighs. He drains the mug, then pushes it away. “I guess I knew things were off. But they’re off every day. He never eats, never looks rested...” He breaks off with a shrug. “And it’s not that I don’t care. It’s more like... that I’m in over my head.”

“He’s going to therapy, right?” Laura asks.

“When he’s up to it. Which is... not as often as it used to be.”

“What about you?” 

Steve opens his mouth, and Laura quickly backtracks. “I mean, not that you need to see someone. I just think, well, I see that you’re stressed. I think you see that you’re stressed.”

“I go to work, and I wish I was home,” Steve says. “Then I’m home, and I wish I was back at work.” He covers his face with his hands. “Am I terrible for thinking that?”

“No.” Laura reaches across the counter for his wrists. “You’re honest. You’re human.”

“I’m not happy.”

“I’d be concerned if you were.”

“Yeah.” Steve touches his chin to his chest. “I guess you’re right there.”

Laura gives a small smile. “If I let you go, will you go to him? He’s in the bathroom. He probably needs putting back to bed in the guest room.”

“And do what? He doesn’t want me,” Steve mutters.

“Go and hold him,” Laura suggests. 

“He doesn’t like to be touched anymore,”

“He let me clean him up earlier,” Laura reminds him. “Maybe he just needed some time? A change of scenery?”

“And if he still doesn’t?” Steve looks doubtful.

“Then just tell him you’re here. And that maybe you’re not going anywhere. For a while, at least.”

Steve bites his lip, then lets out his breath. “Ok,” he finally says. “I want him to get better, you know. And, well, I want to get better.”

“Of course you do,” Laura says. “Go on. I’ll make a fresh pot of cocoa while you’re in there.” 


	3. Chapter 3

When Steve enters the hall bathroom, Bucky’s sitting curled in the corner like a frightened child. A wounded animal. Steve isn’t sure which. He’s reminded strongly of when Bucky first came home, unable to eat or speak and barely able to move without spooking. 

“Bucky?” Steve whispers as he crosses the threshold and not-quite closes the door. He knows Laura’s still out in the hallway, and her presence somehow gives him the confidence to make this move, even though he should’ve done it himself hours ago. Possibly months ago. He wonders if this is what Bucky feels when he comes to spend an hour or a day or a weekend out on the farm. Support. Relief. And now, in Steve’s case, massive amounts of guilt.

Bucky doesn’t respond. The top of his head twitches, so Stteve knows he’s heard, though his face stays buried in his knees.

“Hi,” Steve says softly, hoping he’s chosen the right non-offensive word to announce that he’s here to stay. He eases himself onto the floor a foot or so away from Bucky so the toe of his sock can rest gently against Bucky’s heel.

“Hmph,” Bucky sighs as soon as Steve initiates the contact. The sound is emotionless and hollow, so Steve can’t tell if it’s meant to be an affirmation or disinterest. Steve breathes slowly, staying as still as he can, intending to wait Bucky out until he’s ready to talk. He can feel the heat radiating off Bucky’s skin, and he wonders how he could’ve missed the fever earlier. They hadn’t been more than a foot further apart in the car or across the breakfast table before that. But perhaps it’s that last foot, the last few inches, that make all the difference.

Steve decides he can’t take even this distance anymore, and he brings his hand up and rests it on Bucky’s shoulder. “Feeling rough today?”

Steve phrases it as a question, though the damp warmth of Bucky’s shirt under his palm provides all the answer he needs.

“D-don’t touch me...” Bucky chokes out, jerking his shoulder away and leaning closer to the wall. He lifts his head an inch, and Steve gets a view of pink fever spots and tear tracks marring his otherwise ghostly white face.

“Ok. Yeah.” Steve retracts his hand, and his foot for good measure. “Of course.” 

Bucky uses the hem of his shirt to mop at his eyes. “I--” he mutters. “I just--”

It’s ok, Buck.” The guilt in Steve’s chest spills down toward his stomach. Of course Bucky doesn’t want him. His behavior’s been sickening lately.

“I just--” Bucky tries again, his voice cracking with the pressure of either illness or tears. “Hold me?”

Steve blinks, momentarily unable to put the contradictory directions together. But then Bucky sinks forward, pushing himself over his knees and sideways toward Steve. 

“Ok,” Steve says, quickly stretching out his legs so he has a lap for Bucky to clamber into.

Bucky moves jerkily, tremulously, but he plants himself atop Steve’s thighs and slings his arm around his neck. He buries his face in Steve’s shoulder and breathes wetly in and out, except when the rhythm is punctuated with sobs.

Steve keeps his arms by his sides as he murmurs, “Ok, it’s alright,” into Bucky’s ear. 

A few seconds pass, and Bucky gulps. “Not,” he says. “Not ok.”

Of course he’s right, and Steve feels like an idiot all over again. “Buck...” It’s his turn to sigh. “Yeah. I...”

He shuts his eyes and searches for a way to express himself that isn’t too sharp or blunt or cold to be handled by one running such a high fever. 

“Today was...” Steve starts. “Today was bad.” He fidgets with a loose thread at the corner of the bathroom rug.

Bucky nods into Steve’s shoulder, rocking his blisteringly hot forehead over the ridges of muscle.

“A lot of days have been bad lately, and a lot of them have probably been my fault.” Steve pauses, unsure of how self-deprecating he needs to be before he gets to the truth. He takes a breath and looks down at his hand, then cautiously brings it behind Bucky’s back and hooks a finger through one of his belt loops. 

Bucky stiffens for a second, but says nothing, so Steve exhales and decides to carry on.

“I know stuff’s really hard for you right now,” he says. “Like, with your meds, and therapy. I know stuff’s just not... working.” Steve pulls his other hand into a fist. “I know that.”

Bucky nods again, and Steve feels him swallow.

“But, well, it’s hard for me, too,” Steve says. “You’re not the only one who served, the only one with nightmares...”

Bucky makes another hollow sound, and Steve thinks better of himself. He desperately tries to pull the note of accusation from his tone.

“I see you struggling,” he says, “and it, it fucks with me. It reminds me of places I don’t wanna go. Not that it’s your fault,” he adds quickly. “I just, I see you having a hard time, and I want to fix it. But I can’t. And the people whose job it is to fix it can’t. And watching that, it’s hard on me, Buck.” 

Moisture prickles at the corners of Steve’s eyes, and he tries to keep his voice steady and calm.

“Ok...” Bucky says slowly into Steve’s shirt. “But... Fuck, Stevie, I’m sick.”

“I know,” Steve says. “I know you are.” Today. In general. It doesn’t matter which he’s agreeing to, for both are true. “And I need to be more sensitive to that.”

“Just...” Bucky whispers. “Don’t ignore me ‘cause it’s easier that way.”

“I never meant to do that,” Steve says. “I love you, Buck.”

“I love you,” Bucky breathes. Steve can hear strings of mucous clotting at the back of his throat.

“Tell me where you’re hurting, ok?” Steve unhooks his finger from Bucky’s belt loop and lays his hand carefully across his lower back instead. “I know your throat’s bad, and your stomach.”

Bucky nods, pressing himself harder against Steve’s chest. “’M cold.”

“You have a fever,” Steve reminds him. “I’ll get you some meds. I’ll have Laura tell me where they are. But, Buck?”

“Mm?” Bucky shifts slightly so Steve gets a view of his face. He realizes Bucky looks exhausted as well as ill.

“Tell me when you feel bad, like sad, too.”

“I thought... you didn’t want to see...”

“That’s not true, Buck,” Steve says. “I said it’s hard, not that I don’t want to. I always want you to talk to me, or Laura, or your therapist. Whoever you feel safe with. But I want to be back on your list.”

There’s a pause as Bucky seems to be processing what Steve’s said. Then suddenly his body goes stiff, and he gives a pained groan.

“Buck?” Steve quickly pulls his hand from Bucky’s back and tries to get a look at his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Just--” Bucky withdraws his arm and covers his mouth with his closed fist just in time to stifle a dry retch. “Sick.”

“Aw, Buck.” Steve steers him in the direction of the toilet, though Bucky has little to bring up. Just a mouthful of clear fluid gone bubbly with acid.

When he’s done, Bucky leans back into Steve’s arms, muttering sorries and thank yous that run together into new, mixed-up words. 

“Hey, shh, it’s ok,” Steve soothes. And for the first time that day, he thinks it might be.

There’s a soft creak as the bathroom door opens and Laura steps in. 

Steve glances anxiously up at her, but she simply busies herself with finding a clean paper cup, a washcloth, and a bottle of ibuprofen in the cabinet. She sets the items on the counter, then flashes Steve a small smile, and silently leaves the room.


End file.
